I'm Here Now
by Dusty
Summary: Roach turns to someone from her past. (sequel to "Scars and Memories")


Disclaimer: All characters belong to Disney. Blah blah blah you know the drill, don't sue me. Roach belongs to me and I am quite fond of her, so don't take her unless you want trouble. But if you ask real nice, I might just let you use her. I like feedback. If you would be so kind as to give me some, send it to curbcheck@mailcity.com  
  
Note: if you haven't read "Scars and Memories" yet, go read it. Otherwise, this story probably won't make a whole lot of sense. That's the story that introduces Roach and explains how she knows Cowboy.   
  
//indicate thoughts//  
*indicate emphasis*  
  
I'm Here Now  
By Dusty  
  
  
I awoke abruptly as the bench seemed to disappear from beneath me and I hit the ground. I really have to learn how not to toss and turn in my sleep. There's just not enough room on park benches for that. I sighed and forced my stiff body to move into an upright position. I stretched and cracked my joints before starting to walk aimlessly around Central Park.  
  
As I walked, I looked at the people around me. I noticed the young mothers sitting and chatting about husbands and children and sewing while their kids played in the grass. I noticed men dressed in suits pointing to things in the paper and talking about the stock market as if it were the most important thing in the world. I noticed kids laughing and gossiping on their way to school. I noticed old people sitting and griping about everything from the weather to the rising price of fish. I noticed food venders so busy selling their wares, they don't see a few of the school children snatch little tidbits. Most of all, I noticed how everyone *didn't* notice me.   
  
No one spoke to me. No one looked at me. If I happened to be in someone's line of sight, they gazed at me like I wasn't there. They gazed through me. People don't like to think of unpleasant things, like poverty, starvation, and abandonment. They don't like to think of them, so they deny they exist. In one of the largest, richest, and most prestigious cities in the country, proof that these incurable problems did, in fact, exist are an embarrassment. So we're ignored, locked away, or brutalized. Sometimes all three. And I was getting sick of it.   
  
Suddenly disgusted by the people around me, I started off away from the Park. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't care. I wasn't thinking of that. I wasn't thinking of how I was going to feed myself for the day. I wasn't thinking about avoiding the bulls. I wasn't thinking about the shoes so worn they were about to fall off my feet. All I thought about was walking. Away from the people in the park. Away from the people in the street. I turned down a quiet, dark alley. About half way down it, I noticed there were no more people. Only then did I stop walking.  
  
I kicked some garbage that lay in the middle of the alley. "I hate people," I said angrily. "Dey never think. Dey talk and talk and talk but dey say nothing. Dey're so concerned with what udders think, dat dey'll sacrifice every scrap of deir identity to avoid sticking out. Dey act like dey'd die if people didn't like 'em. Dey're sheep. Not people; sheeple." I sighed as I realized I was talking to myself again. It was an old habit, but I usually didn't do it unless I was really upset. But why was I upset? Nothing unusual had happened. Nobody had done anything to me. Hell, nobody even looked at me. Then it struck me. That's why I was upset. I had to laugh at the irony. Here I was, throwing a hissy fit in the middle of an alley about how people go such lengths to get the attention and acceptance of others and how stupid that is, when the whole reason I was pissed off in the first place was that no one was paying attention to me.   
  
I sighed, a little less angry, and kicked at the garbage some more. Something caught my eye and I froze. It was a newspaper, about a month old. Staring up at me from the front page of that paper was someone I thought I'd never see again. Francis Sullivan. I bent down and picked up the paper. I read the article. It was about the newsie strike. I'd heard all about it, of course, but I had no idea Francis had been involved.   
  
//Hm, so he's going by Jack Kelly these days, huh?// I thought. I stood there staring at the picture. He'd gotten taller since the last time I saw him. He'd filled out a little too. But he still had the same smile. The kind of smile that lit up his whole face. And I knew he still had the same kind eyes, even though you couldn't tell from looking at the photo. Suddenly my chest felt tight and tears welled up in my eyes.  
  
I sat down in the middle of the alley as the tears started streaming down my face, leaving muddy trails in the dirt on my face. I didn't sob, I just sat there with my eyes leaking. I kept looking at the picture as the tears dripped onto the paper. //Why am I crying?// I thought. //I talked to this boy for a half an hour one night, then he busted me out of jail the next night. We hardly knew each other. Why is seeing his picture affecting me like this? I don't understand.//   
  
But deep down, I really did understand. It upset me because it reminded me of what I had given up by walking away that night. The chance to have a friend. He'd offered his friendship to me and I'd desperately wanted to take it. But I was scared. The first and only person I had ever loved and relied on had rejected and abandoned me. My name and the overwhelming fear of letting anyone into my life were the only things my mother had ever given me. So I'd left.  
  
But now I realized that by admitting to myself a few minutes before that I really did want the attention of other people, I took away the only thing I had left. The pretense of not needing anyone. I had nothing left now. And when you have nothing left, you have nothing left to *lose*. I wiped the tears off my face, my fingers running down the raised scar on the left side of my face in the process. Then I stood up, took a deep breath and headed in the direction of the Newsboys Lodging House.  
  
  
It was around 5 in the evening by the time I had worked up enough courage to walk through the front door. I walked into an empty lobby and looked around. It was dimly lit and cozy looking. I liked it already. I walked around it a bit, looking for anyone who was there.  
  
Suddenly a very old man popped up from behind the counter, scaring the bejesus out of me. He smiled reassuringly when he saw me jump.  
  
"Can I help ya, miss?" he asked.  
  
"Uh...does Fra-I mean Jack Kelly live here?" I asked, my voice shaking from nervousness and the scare I'd just had.  
  
"Yes, miss. He's right upstairs. You can go on up, if ya want ta talk ta him," he replied, still smiling. I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and smiled at him. I nodded my thanks and turned toward the stairs. I climbed the stairs, slowing down a bit when I heard several voices coming from the top.   
  
"You're bein' ridiculous," I told myself very quietly. "You live on da streets of New Yawk. You're surrounded by hoards of people all day long. Why are ya getting like dis over a couple a newsies?" I took another deep breath, squared my shoulders and continued up the stairs. I reached the doorway and I stood there, not knowing what to do or say.  
  
Soon, all talking stopped and all eyes were on me. There were around thirty boys in that room and all of them were staring at me. I knew why and I was embarrassed. Now, these boys were not clean by any stretch of the imagination, but compared to me they were immaculate. I was filthy. My hair, which was naturally so black it had a blue sheen to it, was brown with dirt. It was matted so bad, it looked almost like the dread locks I'd seen on a street vendor from Jamaica once. My face was sooty and still had the tracks down my cheeks from where I'd been crying earlier. My clothes were shabby, even by newsie standards, and were the same shade of brown as my hair. The only bit of color I had on me was my eyes, which were a dark blue from embarrassment at the moment. I fought desperately to not give in to the urge to turn around and run as fast as I could away from all these curious eyes.  
  
That's when I spotted Francis. //Jack,// I mentally scolded myself. //His name is Jack now.// He stood there with a shocked, yet curious, expression on his face. He was curious for a different reason than the rest of the boys. I knew he recognized me. I stood there looking him over for a moment, then I looked him straight in the eye. Those kind hazel eyes looking back at me, full of curiosity and suprise, gave me the strength to speak.  
  
"Hey...uh...so does dat offer to be a newsie with ya still stand?" I asked, barely above a whisper. He blinked a couple of times and shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. He smiled at me, and the impulse to run seemed to melt away. Several of the boys shot him questioning looks, wanting to know who I was and how I knew him.  
  
"Yeah, it still stands. Um...why don't we go downstairs and get you signed in and everythin'," he said, walking across the room toward me. I nodded and started down the stairs. I noticed that as we went down, the noise didn't start back up. I suspect some of the boys even followed us a bit so they could hear what was going on.  
  
"Hey Kloppman," he called. "We got a nudder one for ya." The old man who'd been there when I came in popped up from behind the desk again. He picked up a brown book and an ink pot and brought them over to the side of the desk where I was.  
  
"Sign your name heah," he instructed. "It's six cents a night, dinner included, da udder two meals are on you." I nodded and scrawled my name in the book. I started to dig around in my pocket for some change, when Jack tossed six pennies down on top of the book. I looked up at him and smiled slightly.  
  
"I'll pay ya back," I promised. He shrugged.  
  
"Ain't a big deal. Don't worry 'bout it," he said. He looked away nervously. There was awkward silence, and I traced invisible designs on the desk top while I searched my mind for something to say to break the silence. Jack did it for me.  
  
"Well, we betta go upstairs and find you a bunk," he said quietly and started toward the stairs. I followed him, laughing quietly as I heard a few pairs of feet scurrying away from the stairs. When we got to the top, all eyes were once again on me. I lagged behind a bit and Jack noticed this. He shot a glare around the room, and the boys immediately returned to what they had been doing before I had first come in, although I could see them sneaking glances at me every once in a while. Jack led me to a bunk near the far wall and told me that I could sleep on the top. I nodded and told him I was tired and needed sleep. He nodded, then opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but decided against it. He smiled, said good night, then walked away.  
  
I climbed up onto the top bunk and smiled. An actual bed. Semi-clean sheets. I almost felt bad about laying my filthy self down on them, but as soon as I did, all feelings of guilt were replaced by pure bliss. I sighed and closed my eyes. "Jack, who is she?" "Her name's Roach..." was the last thing I heard before falling asleep.  
  
The next day I woke up with the sun glaring in my eyes. I stretched, but stopped suddenly when I realized that I wasn't on my bench. I looked around quickly and remembered where I was. I was alone. I jumped down from my bunk and went in search of Jack. The first stop was the wash room. It was deserted also. I paused for a moment to look longingly at the soap. I shook my head, then proceeded down the stairs to look down there.   
  
"Jack?" I called. "You dere? Anybody?" Just then Kloppman popped up from behind the desk again. Did he crouch down there all day waiting for someone to come by so he can pop out at them?  
  
"You're up! I was wonderin' when you were gonna rejoin the land of the living," he said with a bright smile. "Cowboy said ta let ya sleep. He figured dat if ya slept t'rew da din da boys made gettin' ready, den you must really need da sleep."  
  
"Cowboy? Which one is Cowboy?" I asked. I hadn't really looked at anyone last night, so I doubted I'd know who he was talking about even if he described him to me. I just thought it would be a good thing to know.  
  
"Jack. Da boys call him Cowboy on accounta his obsession wit Santa Fe," he replied as he turned around. He picked something up off of a stool and handed it to me. It was a new (well, new to me) set of clothes; shoes and all. "You can go get yerself cleaned up in da washroom and put dese on. If dey don't fit, lemme know and I'll find somet'in' else for ya." I smiled gratefully as I took them, and quickly headed for the stairs.   
  
I quickly shed my old clothes and hopped into the nearest shower. I stood under the spray of hot water, thoroughly enjoying my first shower. It took nearly an hour and a half of soaping and re-soaping myself before I felt clean enough to venture out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around myself, I began searching for a comb. I located one, picked it up, and went to stand in front of a mirror. I gazed at my face for a moment, which was pink from all the scrubbing, except for the scar, which stood out as a bright white. I smiled and attacked the mess on my head with the comb.  
  
Three hours later, I lounged on my bunk enjoying the feeling of being clean. I had managed to get my hair combed out, with a minimum of cutting involved and it was now dry and shining in the shaft of sunlight coming through the window. I smiled as I ran my fingers through it again. Then I heard footsteps, too fast and heavy to be Kloppman's. I tensed. When I saw it was only Jack, I let out a sigh of relief. He looked at me, then stood there in suprise a minute. I gave him a big smile.  
  
"Well you certainly ain't da goil I left heah dis mornin'" he said with a smile. "But I think I like ya betta." My smile faltered, but I quickly put it back on. I told myself I was being stupid and that he didn't mean anything by it. He was only being friendly. And the whole point of me being here was to find a friend.  
  
"T'anks. So, uh...where's da udders?" I asked peering at the stairs behind him.  
  
"Ah, dey're still sellin'. I got less dan my usual today, so's I could come back heah before dey did. I know dey make ya noivous. Hey, I'm starvin'. Ya wanna go get somethin' ta eat?" I nodded and hopped off my bunk, secretly enjoying the way my hair swished around me when I did so. It hadn't swished like that in a long time.  
  
We walked down the street to a restaurant called Tibbys. Jack held the door for me, making a big show of being "gentlemanly". I laughed and mock-curtsied. We found a nice quiet corner booth and Jack ordered a roast beef sandwich for himself, while I asked for the soup of the day. It'd been a long time since I'd last eaten and I didn't think my stomach could handle solid food. Jack looked at me, smiling, and shook his head.  
  
"It's good to see ya. What have ya been up to all dese years?" He asked. I shrugged.  
  
"Nuttin' much. Wandering around New Yawk mostly. Just got back in Manhattan from Queens about a week ago. Queens is borin' and nobody wants ta give ya nuttin, no matta how hard ya beg. And all I do is beg, I loined my lesson about stealin' dat last time when I met you!" I said. "What you been doin' with yourself? I hoid about dat strike. I must say, I was quite impressed." Jack's smile grew radiant and his chest puffed out with pride. Over the next half hour, he told me every detail of the strike, most of which I'm sure were a little embellished, but it was a very enjoyable story. When he mentioned the part about almost going to Santa Fe right after the strike, I commented on it.  
  
"Ah, Santa Fe. Nice part a da country. People are real nice too. A little reserved, but nice," I said, nodding. He looked at me in suprise.  
  
"You been to Santa Fe?"  
  
"Yeah. When I was nine, I had dis huge obsession with trains. So I used to hop dem every chance I got. Went all ova da country. Afta about a year, I realized dat no matta how pretty da place was or how much I liked trains, I always missed New Yawk. So I came back. I still went on day trips to udda parts of New Yawk or Joisey, but neva really went far again," I said, smiling fondly at the memories. "Ah, dey was good times. Great memories," I said. He smiled softly.  
  
"Scars and memories..." he said, remembering our conversation that night in the Refuge. "And speakin' of scars, I was right. Dat one on your face didn't toin out too bad."  
  
"Yeah, I like it. Makes me look tough. See, afta a while ya get too old so lookin' pitiful don't get you much money. I found it woiks betta if you'se slightly intimidatin'. Like real doity and slightly crazy lookin'. Dey'll give ya money just so you goes away," I said smiling. I realized we'd gotten off topic. "So you said you almost went to Santa Fe..." I prompted.  
  
"Oh yeah," he said, then continued with his story. When he got to the part about him hooking up with that Sarah girl, it took all I had not to sigh with relief. I remembered how he looked at me that night we broke out of the Refuge and I'd noticed the way he'd been looking at me since I got cleaned up. It made me nervous. But now that I knew he had a girl, I felt I had nothing to worry about. He wouldn't try anything like that. He finished the story just as the waiter came over to give us our bill. We quietly got up, paid and left. No playing around at the door this time. The silence continued all the way into the bunk room. I plunked down on one of the bottom bunks. He sat on the one opposite me.  
  
"I looked for ya durin' da strike. At da end when all da udder people were dere, I kept looking in da crowd. I though ya might be in dere," he said quietly. "But you weren't. I thought a you a lot over da years. I looked for ya. It don't make much sense. We barely know each udda, but I looked for ya." He twisted his hands. Then he looked into my eyes, his expression unreadable. I could feel the emotion welling up in my chest.  
  
"I shoulda come with ya dat night," I said, barely audible. Then the tears started to spill over onto my cheeks. He got up without a word and came to sit by me. I tensed as he put his arms around me, but then I collapsed into him and sobbed into his shirt. He held me and stroked my hair.  
  
"It's okay, you'se heah now. You'se heah now. It's okay," he murmured over and over into my hair. We sat like that until I was all out of tears. I turned my red and puffy face up to his.  
  
"Yeah, I'se heah now," I said and smiled.  
  
  
THE END (for now)  
  



End file.
